Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 5: Value City Mall!]
07-06-2010, 01:56 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Rebuilding lost Faceless matter wasn't a particularly convoluted process, despite the fact Vyrm'n barely understood it. Much like the rest of the curious mindless caprices of the void, the more mindful half of the shadow simply figured things out as it went along. A decade of self-awareness dedicated, no, embroiled in the scientific method (compounded with however many years Vyrm had been working in that job before her fated meeting with the Faceless) had helped fill in the gaps after after the creature had observed the effects of Escher's watermill.
Water. A point in existence where conventional physics broke. And emptiness, waiting for matter's distraction at the atom-thin edge, to ambush it, mute it, before conscripting the molecules to their eternity of listening to the screams and song.
Finding that point of broken physics had been the hard part, before the battle - now it seemed one could find it in mills and windows, even in weapons or on the underside of cloaks. In a more peaceable mood, Vyrm'n may have mused over whether the lack of paradoxical pumps had been a quirk in the universe she'd fallen into. At present, a maddeningly unhelpful necroGlere and his chainsaw was causing considerable grievous bodily distraction.
It didn't help Vyrm'n any that she was so inept with moving on these pseudo-pseudopods, in an attempt to minimise exposure to the cacophonous outside, not to mention the Fishbowlkin's concerted efforts to hack them apart with the chainsaw at each stride. A laboured walk, Glere preceding her through a large window overlooking the main pool from the complex's lobby, and Vyrm'n fell in with a splash and crash of breaking glass.
The pool water was not so much filthy, as it was a heavily watered-down cesspit of blood and bloated corpses. A couple of the latter lashed out through the murk with pallid limbs, trying to drag the humanoid down. Trying to ignore the thrashing as void and hammerspace did their thing as best as they could in the churned-up blood-slurry, Vyrm'n didn't notice the desperately scrabbling hand invading the cloak, along with the rush of filthy water.
The ensuing explosion nudged a fresh bunch of waterlogged zombies in the direction of Glere and his passenger, but the Fishbowlkin kept tossing out sticks of dynamite as fast as he could extract them from the drenched mess that was the interior of his cape. Amongst all this carnage, Vyrm'n had only reformed about a bucket of matter before she wove out of Glere's way to let him at the whole box of dynamite. Now mostly submerged, Glere was content to ineffectually bat the box away with one hand while kicking through the scum as the undead swimmers piled upon him in their efforts to seize the foe, marked out as such by the old master of their accursed relife.
A moment later, bits of corpse and pinkish, foamy water were flung skyward as the dynamite detonated. A nasty rip had torn down the cape, between where a particularly heavy-set zombie's concerted bite and Glere's neck had been. As the disembodied cloak fluttered to the grimy pool floor, Vyrm'n was quietly appreciative. The extra seam where reality had warped offered faster regrowth, but she was wondering why the pool had suddenly become shallower.
An inky tendril lashed out to sense for anything different; and the misplaced water was easily found. A waterspout of the turgid, foaming mess snaked overhead, its tail wrapped around the arm of what seemed to be a battered and beaten straw doll.
Its original form may have been human, but the two dragon heads had ripped it clean down the middle, spilling mouldy straw everywhere. The right dragon had its bottom jaw cleaved off, while the other's face was a charred, blackened horror. The twister chasing the craning, crimson neck as it struggled out a gurgling snarl from its half-mouth, Vyrm'n ducked out of the blast as the second neck let loose a stream of fire, flame chasing water and blasting the Faceless with unavoidable blood-soaked steam, hot enough to scald flesh clean off bone had Vyrm'n possessed either. Regardless, this was an unwelcome development, not least because she was running out of water to mill.
The steam dissipating, the shadow struggled far enough out of hiding to take a flying leap out of the pool, dashing for the nearest unemptied pool. As Right gathered water again, Rong lurched forward, dragging the graceless trio after Vyrm'n.
Rebuilding lost Faceless matter wasn't a particularly convoluted process, despite the fact Vyrm'n barely understood it. Much like the rest of the curious mindless caprices of the void, the more mindful half of the shadow simply figured things out as it went along. A decade of self-awareness dedicated, no, embroiled in the scientific method (compounded with however many years Vyrm had been working in that job before her fated meeting with the Faceless) had helped fill in the gaps after after the creature had observed the effects of Escher's watermill.
Water. A point in existence where conventional physics broke. And emptiness, waiting for matter's distraction at the atom-thin edge, to ambush it, mute it, before conscripting the molecules to their eternity of listening to the screams and song.
Finding that point of broken physics had been the hard part, before the battle - now it seemed one could find it in mills and windows, even in weapons or on the underside of cloaks. In a more peaceable mood, Vyrm'n may have mused over whether the lack of paradoxical pumps had been a quirk in the universe she'd fallen into. At present, a maddeningly unhelpful necroGlere and his chainsaw was causing considerable grievous bodily distraction.
It didn't help Vyrm'n any that she was so inept with moving on these pseudo-pseudopods, in an attempt to minimise exposure to the cacophonous outside, not to mention the Fishbowlkin's concerted efforts to hack them apart with the chainsaw at each stride. A laboured walk, Glere preceding her through a large window overlooking the main pool from the complex's lobby, and Vyrm'n fell in with a splash and crash of breaking glass.
The pool water was not so much filthy, as it was a heavily watered-down cesspit of blood and bloated corpses. A couple of the latter lashed out through the murk with pallid limbs, trying to drag the humanoid down. Trying to ignore the thrashing as void and hammerspace did their thing as best as they could in the churned-up blood-slurry, Vyrm'n didn't notice the desperately scrabbling hand invading the cloak, along with the rush of filthy water.
The ensuing explosion nudged a fresh bunch of waterlogged zombies in the direction of Glere and his passenger, but the Fishbowlkin kept tossing out sticks of dynamite as fast as he could extract them from the drenched mess that was the interior of his cape. Amongst all this carnage, Vyrm'n had only reformed about a bucket of matter before she wove out of Glere's way to let him at the whole box of dynamite. Now mostly submerged, Glere was content to ineffectually bat the box away with one hand while kicking through the scum as the undead swimmers piled upon him in their efforts to seize the foe, marked out as such by the old master of their accursed relife.
A moment later, bits of corpse and pinkish, foamy water were flung skyward as the dynamite detonated. A nasty rip had torn down the cape, between where a particularly heavy-set zombie's concerted bite and Glere's neck had been. As the disembodied cloak fluttered to the grimy pool floor, Vyrm'n was quietly appreciative. The extra seam where reality had warped offered faster regrowth, but she was wondering why the pool had suddenly become shallower.
An inky tendril lashed out to sense for anything different; and the misplaced water was easily found. A waterspout of the turgid, foaming mess snaked overhead, its tail wrapped around the arm of what seemed to be a battered and beaten straw doll.
Its original form may have been human, but the two dragon heads had ripped it clean down the middle, spilling mouldy straw everywhere. The right dragon had its bottom jaw cleaved off, while the other's face was a charred, blackened horror. The twister chasing the craning, crimson neck as it struggled out a gurgling snarl from its half-mouth, Vyrm'n ducked out of the blast as the second neck let loose a stream of fire, flame chasing water and blasting the Faceless with unavoidable blood-soaked steam, hot enough to scald flesh clean off bone had Vyrm'n possessed either. Regardless, this was an unwelcome development, not least because she was running out of water to mill.
The steam dissipating, the shadow struggled far enough out of hiding to take a flying leap out of the pool, dashing for the nearest unemptied pool. As Right gathered water again, Rong lurched forward, dragging the graceless trio after Vyrm'n.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow